Everything
by A.j
Summary: General heading for my short Housefic. Stories are not related. Generally HouseCuddy.
1. Five Ways Cuddy and House Screwed

**Four Ways Cuddy Ended Up in House's Bed, and One He Ended Up in Hers**

Author: A.j.

Spoilers: For 3.1.

Rating: R

Notes: Also done for the 'five things' meme on LJ a while ago.

---

**1.** She's a junior in college and has definitely had too much to drink. It's finals week and, rather unsurprisingly, most of the student population is celebrating by getting smashed and making out with whoever's handy. Lisa'd only gone because her roommate had wanted a date buddy. Not a strong opening to an evening, but the music had been loud and the booze had been free. Which is why she's stretched out on an unfamiliar bed with someone's hand up her shirt and her tongue down his throat.

The guy on top of her is tall and pleasantly muscled and knows _just_ what to do with his fingers to make her twitch. She doesn't usually sleep with strangers, but he's got a condom and blue eyes and when she wakes up in the morning and sneaks out, he lets her.

Oddly enough, that's what she remembers when she meets him again.

**2.** She runs into him, literally, at a medical conference in Fresno, California. It had been a last minute substitution because her fellow intern had come down with a massive case of food poisoning. As such, she's had to spend nearly an hour straightening out room reservations and the welcome dinner is almost starting by the time she gets everything in order. She charges in to the elevator - she has fifteen minutes to get primped and pretty and back down to the ballroom before the doors closed - and runs full-tilt into another person.

He catches her and says something pithy, but she's not really paying attention because holy crap, it's that guy she had sex with in college. She says this outloud, and years later realizes it's i only /i because she did that they spent the rest of the weekend attempting to break his hotel room bed.

They don't manage it.

She gets on the plane home three days later pleasantly sore and with a head full of everything she's supposed to report back on. He'd walked her through the whole outline of the conference while going down on her. Turns out he was the guest speaker.

**3.** They end up fighting through a consultation she brought to him. Three hours of poking and prodding and working completely in-tune with each other wraps with him being right (of course) and them being hungry. Because he actually _lives_ in town, she badgers him into taking her somewhere good and they continue fighting through a rather impressive Italian dinner. They only stop talking when she pops a bite of her crème brule cheesecake and audibly moans.

Unsurprisingly, he ends up staring at her breasts while she squeaks and mmm's her way through the rest of her dessert. Just after she swallows her last bite, but before she can find the last traces of sweetness, his mouth is suddenly over hers. Tasting and licking and using his rather impressive tongue to its best advantage, and when he finally pulls back it's definitely not the cheesecake making her mewl.

"Wanna fuck?" He whispers it while nibbling on the edge of her ear and five hours of anger suddenly feel a lot more like foreplay.

She keeps her hand in his pants the entire way back to his place and unrepentantly steals his car the next morning to get herself back to the hospital parking garage. She leaves the keys under the mat before picking up the leftover paperwork at the admission desk and driving the sixty or so miles back home.

The next time they talk, he's deeply in love with another woman, and she's oddly relieved.

**4.** Two weeks after Stacy leaves the first time, she shows up at his doorstep and jimmies the lock. She finds him sprawled in the living room in nothing but a pair of sweats and an open bottle of tequila on its side next to him.

She doesn't bother trying to move him, just starts cleaning. She ends up hauling out three garbage bags and doing three loads of wash before he even stirs. Has the fridge stocked with edible things and has a light soup in the no-longer-disgusting crock pot when he hobbles into the kitchen on two arm crutches.

"Christ who the fuck turned you into Glinda the Housekeeping fairy, and what drug are you on that made you think I'd appreciate it?"

She slaps him because nothing else has worked. She's expecting it when he slaps her back and has her arm already back for the closed-fisted punch.

They only make it to the bed because his thigh spasms in the middle of her riding him hard on the linoleum. It's not gentle or even all that pleasurable for either of them, but she comes and he comes and this is probably better than him shooting himself.

By the time she drops a full mug of chicken rice soup on his nightstand, they're both black and blue in more places than those that are visible.

She doesn't look back when she leaves. But she wants to.

**5** She is rolling her eyes and going back to bed when she hears the window scrape in its frame. Her palm slapping her forehead actually _hurts_, but that takes a hard backseat to the sudden presence of a warm callused hand on her shoulder, tugging her around.

"What the-" is all she manages to get out before he's kissing her and shit his stubble is rubbing her just the right way. He is sweaty and hard under her hands and by the time his shirt and her shirt and their shorts are on the floor, his mouth is between her thighs and she really can't remember why they shouldn't be doing this.

It's only when she's breathing hard from her second orgasm and House moves up her body, _dragging_ his stubble and hairy thighs over her already sensitized skin, that her head clears enough to murmur "This isn't getting me to try the treatment."

He just snorts and pulls her thigh up into a gentle but firm stretch to hook her knee over his shoulder. Her scream is an echo in the room when he nips at her ear. "Not _yet_, maybe."


	2. Five Thoughts

Five Thoughts That Go Through Cuddy's Head When She Gets Out of Bed in the Morning 

Author: A.j.

Rating: Hard R.

Pairing: Cuddy/OC, Cuddy/House (kind of.)

Notes: Done for the Five Things meme that went around LJ a while ago.

---

**1.** There's something scratchy underneath her cheek. Confused, she rubs against it, trying to puzzle it out.

Her fuzzy brain points out that whatever it is has edges, and after a particularly curious nuzzle, they're upgraded to _sharp_ edges. She should probably just open her eyes. Mysteries are usually solved pretty quickly that way. A voice that sounds suspiciously like her neurology professor from last semester starts shouting at her that eyes lie, even as Lisa pries one open and glares balefully... at a white blob.

Which quickly resolves itself into a book. Her vascular system reference book to be precise.

She'd fallen asleep while studying in bed. Again.

Groaning, she sits up, scrubbing at her face before turning to put her feet on the floor and look at her alarm clock. One day, she was going to be out of medical school. Really.

**2.** Surprisingly, she's awake when her beeper goes off at three am. Awake in the best kind of pleasantly sore ways.

Jeff is warm and long and feels like twelve different kinds of sin running his fingers lightly up and down her spine. Tonight – okay, _yesterday_ – had been their tenth date and this was the very first time they'd stayed over at her place. The three previous times they'd ended up in this happy little boneless pile of sweaty relaxation had been at his apartment across town. But they'd gone dancing after dinner at Tonio's and the only decent club she knew of had been around the corner, and it would have been stupid to drive to his place afterwards.

Not that she'd wanted to, with his hands up her shirt and his beautiful tongue doing things to her ear that should be made illegal in all fifty states. No, in the heat of it, it hadn't mattered where they'd found a horizontal place. Humming happily under his ministrations, she admits to herself that he could have talked her into a quickie in the alley behind the club. Something she'd never actually done and that would be rather frowned on by her bosses if anyone ever found out.

Still, when her beeper blares its rather cranky tune at her, reality settles and she's left in the awkward position of deciding whether or not to ask him to stay. Or allowing him to.

A quick check of the number lets her know that _yes_, her intern is in desperate trouble, despite the fact that it's her first not-on-call weekend in almost two months. Sighing, she disengages from Jeff's talented fingers and sits up.

"Do you have to go…?" Jeff's voice is a baritone. Strong and clear in the soft light cast by her bedside lamp. They'd left it on, and it's casting a cheery romantic haze over everything. Even her 'doctor mode' is somehow less urgent, staring down at this naked, strong man lounging in her bed.

He's beautiful, and she can't resist running a hand through his tousled dark hair and down his jaw.

"Yeah. One of my special cases just took a turn for the worse."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Let me get my pants on and I can drive you."

It's an unexpected gift. A way out of asking, but she's never been one to shy away from something even if an easier answer presents itself. If she doesn't follow things to their end, she never feels quite comfortable.

"No. I need to take my car in. I have no idea how long I'll be, and it's better if I have my own transportation back home. You can stay, if you'd like…?" She leaves it a question because it isn't just her in this.

He smiles and shakes his head. "No, that's okay. I'll get up with you. I want to head home anyway."

Later, as he walks her to her car, she tries not to feel relieved that he's leaving her personal space. He waves her away, and as she watches him disappear in her rearview, she allows herself the truth.

**3.** Her ceiling is very white. She's not really noticed it before now as she hasn't had the luxury of sleeping in long enough to see her ceiling during daylight hours in a very long time.

No, that's wrong. She gets enough sleep. The days of her internship, residency, and newbie status passed long enough ago that she's had enough time to begin to decorate her home. She's _bought_ a home, for that matter.

This is different. This, apparently, is what vacation is like.

Two whole weeks. Two weeks of being able to sleep in – not that she has the last three days – as late as she'd like. Two weeks where she can get up like a normal person and go to the market. She won't be wandering through at 3am either.

She can go to the bank.

She could get a book at the library and read it.

She can go to the _dentist_.

She has no idea what to do with herself at all.

With only a kind of pathetic wale, she pulls her comforter over her head. That's, at least, not white.

**4.** The floor is too cold when she puts her feet down. It's a feeling she's hated since early childhood, that knowledge that everything is ahead of her in the day and that the things she's done the day before kind of don't matter.

Her eyes are itchy - the benadryl wears off in the night - so she usually ends up rubbing her eyes, and by the time she looks at herself in her bathroom mirror, they're red and her hair looks like someone plugged her into a light socket and threw water at her. It's attractive. Really.

Thirty some years of this exact routine. There are wrinkles where there weren't before. Sags and blemishes that get smoothed out by makeup during the day, but are open and visible in the unforgiving early morning light.

Inevitably she rolls her eyes at herself and gets in the shower. She's never been one for self pity. Not after she's actually awake.

**5.** Before she even opens her eyes, she knows she desperately wants aspirin and a gallon of water. No more scotch. Ever. And she means it this time.

"Mrph. Coffee."

Yes. Coffee would be really, really good. Wait.

She hadn't said that.

Something poked her, hard, in the shoulder. She pried open an eyelid, blinked once, slamed it shut and groaned. Loudly. "Oh, shit."

"Stoppit with the shame and get me some caffeine, woman."

"Oh, fuck you, House."

NEVER. HAVING. SCOTCH. AGAIN.

-fin-


	3. Maybe It Means Nothing

Title: Maybe It Means Nothing

Author: A.j.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: House/Cuddy (kind of.)

Summary: He wishes he'd met her in college.

House doesn't remember her from college. It would have been something of a trick if he did as they'd never actually met. Not really. Not that he can pin down or recall in any memorable way. He knows they were there together, at least for a couple years, but only because she'd mentioned it in passing and he'd tracked down the graduation lists. Sure enough, she hadn't been lying.

He thinks about it from time to time. He bores easily - always has - so he's gotten rather good at living in his own headspace. Exploring possibilities and worlds and he knows that if he had any talent at all for writing out fiction, he'd be a fucking millionaire with just the short and dirty contents of his spank bank. Porn gets you money, even when you're writing it.

So he thinks about Michigan sometimes. Michigan and Cuddy and Cuddy in Michigan. Tries to imagine her walking by him in a labcoat, looking luminous in her youth, and so very serious. He thinks that she probably looks better now. The young have always held little appeal for him, physically, even when he was young. There was something... better about maturity.

Not that high, firm breasts and asses you could bounce quarters off of were anything to sneeze at. Or that you'd kick out of bed. Still, when he actually allowed himself to really think about what turned him on in person, in a person, it always went back to confidence. Gravity. Something like that.

Wilson would just say - if he ever actually said any of that to Wilson, and after the man had stopped laughing - that brunettes with great legs and breasts were his type in person. Wilson thought he was funny, and although he sometimes managed it.. not so much.

But again, he likes to try and imagine Cuddy when she was young. Tries to draw a picture of her in his head. Edit her into the backgrounds of familiar memories. Testing them out.

Sometimes he pictures her a few tables away from him in that Middle Eastern place down the street from the library. Tries to imagine her eating her rice and lamb and laughing with someone equally young while he tried to be daring and mature and stomach the Turkish coffee the owner plied him with. Other times he pictures her in a fuzzy pink hat and parka, walking by one of the many, many snowball fights out on the quad. Maybe he even hit her with a snowball, making her gasp and glare.

It never quite works though. In the fantasy, she always looks over at him, catches his attention and just smirks at him. That singular expression of smug amusement and exasperation completely wipes the mental babychub and rosy cheeks away, leaving the slim lines and dignity. She is so vibrantly _herself_, herself right now in his head, that he never gets far with the Young Greg and Young Cuddy naughty spanking time fantasy. Old Greg and Dominatrix Cuddy well... that's an entirely different kettle of fish.

He does wonder what it would have been like, if they'd met in college. Dazzled her with his wit and trim figure – and his mental Cuddy snorts at that phrase and lets him know she would have at nineteen too – before taking her somewhere and doing what grad students should do with fetching undergrads.

Oh, yes, he wants those memories. But when he's honest with himself - and he usually tries to be - he's glad he met her when he did. Because watching her walk away after a particularly good argument... Well. The reality's better than that fantasy any day.

-fin-


	4. Not So Much A Lie

Title: Not So Much A Lie As An Omission (She Says)

Author: A.j.

Rating: R for language.

Pairing: House/Cuddy (sort of.)

Summary: She's better than this. (And that is a lie.)

---

She wants to have sex with him. This is not new (of course it's not) but neither is her self-control. It would be monumentally stupid to _have_ sex with him. Participate in intercourse. Greg House inserting tab A, and all that.

She's visualized it a few times. Never gone so far as to masturbate to thoughts of him (and this is a lie) but parts of him superimposed over George Clooney going down on her are not an uncommon occurrence. George looks strange with cornflower blue eyes. But his tongue (and her vibrator) are just as good as when he's got brown eyes, and who really focuses on the stubble?

She does, but that's okay. George Clooney has stubble. Really. She's seen pictures.

So yes, Lisa Cuddy wants to have sex (hide the sausage) with Gregory House. This is probably a healthy female response to an alpha male something. It really doesn't affect her everyday life (this _isn't _a lie, but very easily could be) as, unlike boys, her libido does not rule her decisions. She often wonders at the continuing sexual harassment statistics in her field, and has to bite her tongue when she sees House stare at Cameron's retreating ass.

She tells herself that it's a twisted form of diagnostician training on his part, but is randomly glad that Cameron doesn't have the spine to actually _sue _him. Their legal budget is big enough as it is where he's concerned. If it ever came to that? (She'd settle.)

And it doesn't help that House sexually harasses _her _to her face. Eight years on and she actually has learned to tune his comments about her breasts out. The comments about her ass, on the other hand... ("Damn, you could bounce _quarters_ off that. Can I?") Those still crack her neck around and make her glare.

It's not just that he's gotten up close and personal with said ass in recent history (he has), or that she'd been pumped full of hormones there for that little while (she had.) It's that after eight plus years... he's still looking. And that confuses her just as much as it gives her that warm (inappropriate) glow in her tummy.

Sometimes, she walks by him and half-turns to do something else. It's only then (when neither of them are paying attention) that she really gets that he wouldn't say _no_ if she ever cornered him in a dark exam room (number 3 has the most comfortable table) and dug into the supply of condoms in the storage carts.

She has never pictured what their children would look like. That is something too real and too close to home. It's wrong in her head and she will never (ever) let the image of toddlers with that _smirk_ enter her mind. It's unfair to her and unfair to him and a line she is not crossing. (Not yet.)

It's bullshit that she wants to fuck him. It's stupid and wrong and forbidden (that makes it _hotter _and she knows herself well enough to know it really, really is) and did she mention stupid? She's his boss and doctor and possibly something like friend. It's so goddamn cliché that she wants to hit him with something heavy and push him down some stairs. (Really.)

Overall, she is glad (most of the time) her reproductive organs are inside her body and that she isn't ruled by her dick. Contrary to popular opinion, the only one she has is purple and not attached to a strap-on. She will _not _have sex with Greg House. She is his boss and doctor and possibly something like a friend to the man.

This does not stop her from wearing really nice heels (they do amazing things for her posture and calves) or really low tops. It's nice that there's someone looking. But she has other things to do than contemplate fucking Greg House.

(This is...)

-fin-


End file.
